


An Invitation to Your Personal Disaster

by synchronized_strangers



Series: Bad Intentions [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cross Generational Relationship, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Macchiavellian Relationship, Post Season 2, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronized_strangers/pseuds/synchronized_strangers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s ridiculous, really, and he’s half-convinced most of it stems from willful ignorance on her part, but either way, she’s remarkably uninformed about the state of her town. That becomes his first order of business. Relationships can only be built on certain kinds of lies, and he intends to start this one off with a properly deceitful foundation.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The look on her face when he picks her up from school is priceless.</em>
</p><p>Or</p><p>Pydia with books for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany">KaelsMiscellany</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Invitation to Your Personal Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I should make it very clear that my Peter isn't a nice guy, so while this may seem nice and fluffy on the surface, you don't have to dig very deep to hit the creepiness. If that isn't what you like, this probably isn't the series for you. It's only going to get worse from here. :)

Somehow, and he’s really a bit confused on exactly how it happened, but somehow, Lydia has been largely excluded from most of what’s gone on in the past year. It’s ridiculous, really, and he’s half-convinced most of it stems from willful ignorance on her part, but either way, she’s remarkably uninformed about the state of her town. That becomes his first order of business. Relationships can only be built on certain kinds of lies, and he intends to start this one off with a properly deceitful foundation.

The look on her face when he picks her up from school is priceless.

She stares, open-mouthed, eyes flicking from him to the car as though it’s some kind of mirage. Although to be fair…

He waits, squinting against the afternoon sun. The brightness still hurts his eyes but it’s worth it to see her hair in good light. Seems a shame not to take in the lovely picture she paints, long legs bare despite the chill, hair loose and curling around her neck. That skin was so soft it had almost felt like touching nothing but for the heat.

A little too violently, he shoves his hands in his pockets and one of her eyebrows twitches up. Gone is the open-mouthed stare and in its place a disinterested mask as she marches down the steps like a soldier to war.

The thought of her striking fear into the hearts of her enemies is enough to change his ever-present grin into a genuine smile, particularly when she glares up at him so viciously. It almost makes him want to hand her a knife just to see what she’d do with it.

Almost.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it isn’t going to work,” she announces, her arms crossed in a way she would probably think twice about if she knew how appetizing it made her breasts look.

“No?”

“No.”

Peter leans in and god, but that little flinch is satisfying. She narrows her eyes at him when he stops only inches from her face. Not what she was expecting, maybe. Good. Her heart is a fluttering staccato in her chest and he can smell the strawberry oil of her lipgloss, but all he does is look. Stares for so long something like panic starts to well behind her eyes, but she isn’t looking away.

Oh, Lydia. Pride goeth before the fall.

All at once and just a little too fast to be human, he stands straight and walks to the driver’s side door. "Okay."

“What?” Her frown is indignant and adorable, as if it’s a personal affront to her that he’s gone off-script.

Patronizingly slow, he repeats, “Okay. You don’t want a ride, that’s fine.”

“You really expect me to believe all you want is to give me a ride.”

He smothers his grin just a touch too late but he can’t really bring himself to mind since it causes a lovely flush to creep up her neck at the thought of him laughing at her expense. It’s almost too easy, but he isn’t exactly playing fair.

“Not everything is a nefarious scheme, Lydia. I know Jackson is gone and you don’t own a car. I thought you might prefer not to walk in Louboutin.” Her eyes dart from him to the car to potential witnesses as more students pour into the parking lot. He allows a little fondness to seep into his tone when he adds, “It’s just a ride.”

The moment her resolve breaks is a lick of fire up his spine. “Fine, but only because I like these shoes.”

As she slides into the car with perfunctory disdain, Peter spots Stiles just exiting the building and can’t resist beaming in his direction.

But Stiles doesn’t look offended, or annoyed, or angry. For a brief second, Stiles actually looks terrified.

 _Interesting_. Peter's going to have to be more careful to keep an eye on that. If anyone is going to throw a wrench in his plans, it'll be Stiles. Something to consider later.

Inside the car, Lydia’s endeavoring not to look impressed. Half-successfully. Peter less than successfully endeavors not to stare at the tempting expanse of leg even more exposed thanks to the low seating. It may have factored into his buying considerations. She’s so fond of heels.

“I’d give you directions, but you already know where it is,” she says pointedly. As if he should be abashed.

“I wouldn’t need directions even if I didn’t,” he answers smoothly, waving a hand toward the center console. “Please, put on whatever you like.”

It takes all of ten seconds for her to take the bait.

“Why wouldn’t you need directions?”

“I could track your scent.” Into the horrified quiet of the car, he tacks on, “Werewolf and whatnot. You understand.” 

He can feel her trembling over the purr of the engine and he aches to feel it against his chest, to feel her shake apart under his body. He can see just how easy it would be, to pull the car off into the woods. He could be across the seats and on her in the time it took a single tear to fall. He could swallow all the wounded little sounds she’d make at the back of her throat. Feel those long, white legs around his hips.

The steering wheel creaks under the force of his grip, but his face holds placid. Now isn't the time. Not yet, no matter how tempting.

When she does speak, it's so quiet he almost misses it even with his hearing, just a soft hiss that sounds suspiciously like relief.

"No one ever says it. No one _ever_ said it, and then he was gone." He can feel the weight of her stare against his face, her eyes latched onto him like tenther hooks and just as deeply embedded. Her voice rises a little with every word, bitterness slating off each one. "They all dance around it like I'm going to shatter if they say anything. Like I'm so _delicate_."

If she only knew just how delicate she was. How easily her skin parted under claws. How quickly her blood soaked into the ground, the earth itself taking a piece of her. Sometimes he woke up in the night and he could still taste her on the back of his tongue, sharp and sweet. It always left him wondering what she would taste like on her back, writhing under his hands and mouth.

"You're not stupid, Lydia. If you want things to change, change them." He pulls the car into her driveway, stopping closest to the front door, but it pleases him more than it should when she makes no move to get out. "Start the dialogue yourself."

There's something naked and real in her big, wet eyes. She looks painfully young, but her voice is steady. "Why me?"

It's so brave of her to ask that he decides to give her a piece of the truth. "Because you could take it."

"I haven't made up my mind whether or not I hate you yet."

There's nothing fake in the smile that spreads across his face. "I'd be disappointed if you had. Here. To help you start that conversation." He pulls the flash drive off his keychain and presses it into her palm.

"What is it?" she asks, curiosity at war with the old fear he still inspires in her. But the more time passes, the harder it is for the fear to win out. And her idiot friends couldn't be more helpful if they tried. It really isn't a fair fight.

Fortunately, Peter's never pretended to play fair. "A book. The Argent Bestiary, actually. You want to talk, that's the place to get your source information. Keep it, I have more than one copy."

The silence as she studies the piece of plastic in her hand is oddly pregnant. He isn't quite sure with what, but when her face closes off he can tell the moment of vulnerability has passed. She grabs her bag and gets out of the car far more gracefully than most humans could, calling back haughtily, "I'm wearing Fendi tomorrow. Don't be late."

"Sleep well."

She doesn't even flinch at that one. He isn't sure if he should be insulted or pleased, but really, it doesn't make a difference. Today he's achieved far more than he'd hoped, and he has his nephew's little rag tag pack to thank for it.

He stops on the way back to the warehouse to pick up muffins. They deserve a reward.


End file.
